


Bleeding all over your lawn

by DevinePhoenix



Category: Bleach, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dying Will Flames, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 19:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17250338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevinePhoenix/pseuds/DevinePhoenix
Summary: UraIchi Prompt Challenge #2 - ScarMugetsu tore open Ichigo's soul in a giant gaping wound. It was supposed to scar over, leave him functional if a little empty.It didn't.(In which Ichigo's soul is bleeding out through his fingertips and no one is around to notice)





	Bleeding all over your lawn

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New year! I promise this isn't as angsty as it sounds.
> 
> I won't include a big explanation of KHR Dying will flames because it's not really needed for this one. Here's the need to know:
> 
> Basically some people can use soul fire. Flames users make bonds among each other. Ichigo has orange sky flames. Kisuke has indigo illusion mist flames. Hibari has purple cloud flames that can multiply things.
> 
> Somebody with Sealed flames gets cold and their body becomes clumsy and slow, expecting flames where they no longer have them. Ichigo hasn't been Sealed but its the same concept.

When Ichigo was eight, he acquired an entire blank period of memory and a dead mother. All he knew was that he woke up with fire in his veins and the world _sharp_ like jagged edges of glass. It wasn’t long before he forgot what the world had been like before.

 

The first few weeks of the new sharpness were spent wrestling grief and lighting _everything_ on fire accidentally. As soon as he got remoted stressed, tongues of flame would start flickering along his body. He never explained to Isshin why his clothes were always so charred and Isshin never asked. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he thought that was normal for mortal children.

 

Ichigo never thought much of it. Even when the flames yearned and reached out for others when he turned fifteen, his only reaction was to shrug and figure out how to pull them back under his control. After that, he paid them no more attention. He had Shinigami nonsense to deal with, he didn’t have time to sort out this flame business.

 

Then he was horrendously scarred, two-thirds of his soul ripped apart and even the flames abandoned him like everything else.

 

The world had grown f r i g i d and cold. Ice in his bones and snow in his veins. When he exhaled, he was half-surprised to not see mist. His body was sluggish and clumsy with cold. His mind moved and jumped ahead like usual, but his body could no longer keep up with the motion. He overreached, misjudged spaces, and flat out had his knees buckle unexpectedly when confronted with stairs.

 

He

 

He could no longer fight.

 

Not even the regular fights with the usual thugs and yakuza, The little scuffles with bullies. He couldn’t even handle those weaklings anymore. These days, he could barely make it back and forth from school.

 

Three weeks after he returned to ‘regular’ life, he was knifed in an alley.

 

Sitting there amidst the grime with blood soaking into his shirt, he wondered if he should bother getting up. He had been a good weapon, a great one even. He had been a _god killer,_ for all that Aizen was still breathing at the end of it. But in the end, he had run his use, and even the best weapon was worthless when shattered into pieces.

 

He could no longer protect anyone. He couldn’t even protect _himself_ anymore. And that new realization gutted him to his core all over again.

 

He was cold and powerless and **alone**.

 

Karakura was deadly to him now. He couldn’t stay and expect to continue to breathe. There were too many people out for his blood, eagerly circling closer because they smelt his blood in the water.

 

He knew enough about death and souls to know that his fragile thing won’t last for long when he dies. All that awaits him is a slow dissolve into nothingness. Not enough sustenance to satisfy a hollow and not whole enough to survive a Konso. Dying won’t even bring back his lost partners, his missing two-thirds of soul.

 

He doesn’t want Yuzu and Karin to have to deal with his body. In the end, that’s what makes him get up again. He can’t die, and if he stayed here he undoubtedly would.

 

In the end there’s no real choice at all.

 

He limps home to his empty house (Karin has taken his place with the Shinigami patrols and Yuzu spends more time at her friend’s houses to escape the silence), bandages his wounds and starts to pack to leave. Halfway to fitting his knife collection in his pockets, he realizes that he’s not even a legal adult yet. Isn’t that just strange? He’s fought in a war. He’s killed sentient beings. Yet somehow, he can’t legally drink alcohol. Legally, this is him ‘running away’. It feels almost juvenile to consider it like that but that’s what it is.

 

He packs for the worst-case scenario. He has no plan, no destination other than away from the pitying gazes of his friends and the yakuza who want him dead. He has no allies left, even his strongest defenders have been strong armed under the wing of the Gotei.

 

The Shouten had been closed for weeks. _And wasn’t that just a kick in the teeth._

 

The Vizard’s warehouse had been similarly abandoned. _But how could he tell if anyone was there if he could no longer **see**_.

 

He leaves Karakura on a warm afternoon, three weeks after waking from his coma.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He’s cold all the time.

 

Even when he huddles close to a heater or finds a warm spot of sun, the heat never reaches down to his bones. It lingers as the weeks pass and he’s certain now that he will never get better. What faint hope he had was quickly washed away as the days roll on and his body deteriorate instead of getting better.

 

He stopped briefly in a discrete clinic, but they’re just as baffled as he is. From that moment he knows that his ailment is not a physical disease or something that the living world can cure.  

 

He loses more weight even though he eats.

 

He’s unhealthily thin and shivering when he finally steps off a train and realizes he can’t go any further. He’s _tired_. His soul is tattered and scarred so deeply that it’s a miracle that he’s still alive.

 

The town is quiet and serene in a way that soothes the shreds of his soul. No one looked too closely at his hair, which was a bit of a relief. It appeared that lighter coloured hair was common in the town from what he could see of the passing citizens. He swore he saw a boy with white-silver hair at one point. The lack of attention is nice. He likes it. Especially in his state, where he wouldn’t be able to handle someone taking offense.

 

He shuffled through the town slowly with his aching limbs before selecting a nice bridge to nestle under.

 

It’s a nice spot.

 

It’s dry and the concrete still carries some warmth from the sun. He can watch the river flow sluggishly from where he curled up against the concrete. The bridge is low enough that he can’t be seen from the road. He won’t be noticed for a good long while.

 

He thinks that would be good.

 

He doesn’t know for sure what is wrong with him, though at this point he’s certain that it’s caused by his soul damage. Maybe the wound of where two thirds of his soul was ripped away had never scarred properly. Maybe the wound had grown infected somehow. Maybe it had never closed, and he was still bleeding out spiritually. How could he know?  He couldn’t see anymore. But he sure as hell could feel it.

 

The real tragedy of this, he thinks, is that there had been nobody to ask for help.  Urahara would’ve known what was wrong in an instant, or at least been able to get Unohana-taicho if it was beyond his skill. But he wasn’t there.

 

He’s a doctor’s kid and he knows what death looks like. Quite literally in his case.

 

He’s been monitoring his condition ever since it started, and it had slowly but surely tipped into signs of mass organ failure. He had lost feeling in his extremities yesterday. Dizzy spells had been increasing in frequency since the day before that. His appetite had been nonexistent for days with low-grade nausea heavy in his stomach. His vision had started hazing out an hour ago. He could feel his body shutting down around him.

 

It would probably take a while for his body to be found, under this desolate bridge, if it was found at all. It’s almost laughable that this is how he dies. Byakuya couldn’t kill him, Kenpachi couldn’t kill him and Aizen couldn’t kill him. Instead he’s going to die slowly from self-inflicted soul wounds.

 

There’s no telling if his spirit even has enough strength left for him to be conscious when he was permanently separated from his body for the last time.

 

He could try and get up again. Force his frozen carcass into motion. Use his formidable will to limp along in life for a few more days. But he was just so _cold_.

 

He’d rather lie there in the fading sunlight and watch the river flow as the last sparks of life in his chest grew cold.

 

A gorgeous sunset turned the river to burnished copper as his vision goes black.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When he woke up, he was no longer cold. That ice deep in his core had dislodged and he could feel his fingers again. He felt better than he had for a while now, less like he was on the brink of death.

 

Beneath him, the hard concrete had been replaced with the softness of a warm futon. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that he had been moved from his little nest by the riverbank.

 

Slowly he became aware that the heavy weight on his chest was not a blanket since he could feel it breathing. It radiated warmth to an uncomfortable degree, seeping into every crevice and filling the hollow in his bones. It reminded him of his orange flame but at the same time, nothing like it. His flames had always been calm and controlled, even when he was at his most irritated and they gained a ragged purple edge.

 

_These_ flames were wild and powerful and unrestrained in a way he could respect.

 

“Wao.” The living blanket finally spoke, sounding impressed.

 

He cracked open an eye to observe the Japanese teenager, maybe a little younger than him, lounging on his chest. He had sharp features that complemented the sharp predatory gaze of his eyes. He was very pretty, in the way a wild animal was pretty, all sleek lines and languor with a hint of danger.

 

He didn’t have to feel the muscles to know that this person could probably take him down easily when he was in human form. In that way, he reminded Ichigo of Kisuke under his goofy mask. All predator and bloodthirst.

 

Far too used to waking up with strange people in his bed, Ichigo just blinked placidly at him.

 

Aside from the strange bedmate, he noticed the far more concerning sight of rich purple flames staining the boy’s silver eyes and lingering on his body. The feeling seeping into his core wasn’t _like_ his flames, it _was_ the same kind of flames. And just like they felt, they were thick and heavy and _wild_ , lashing every which way.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

The boy ignored his question, leaning forward to put more pressure on his lungs. “What are you doing in _my Territory_.”

 

He could hear the capital letter in the way he said it. If he was lucky, this wasn’t yakuza territory he had trespassed on again. His body was in no condition to deal with that.

 

“I took a train.”

 

Though if asked, he honestly couldn’t remember what train it had been or where he had come from, those last few days had been a blur. In hindsight, that made it sound even more of a lie.

 

 

“You were bleeding all over Namimori.” The boy sounded a little pissed about that. Who wouldn’t be with a strange person smearing blood on their lawn.

 

Had his stab wound reopened at some point? He honestly wouldn’t know since he had lost feeling by then.

 

“And I’m sorry about that. But I have to ask,” His eyes were a little wide as he watched the purple flames sink into his chest. “ _what are you doing?_ ”

 

The teenager hummed again, sharp silver eyes studying him intensely. After a long moment, he nodded sharply in satisfaction and the purple flames dissipated. Ichigo almost wanted to protest at the loss of warmth, but…the cold hadn’t returned. After such intense chill he could easily feel the core of warmth once again in his chest.

 

“Omnivore.” He declared suddenly. “I fixed you. So, fight me.”

 

_“What do you mean you fixed me.”_

 

“You were bleeding orange all over my territory.” The way his nose wrinkled could almost be funny if not for the fact he had _somehow repaired his soul_. His guess had been right, his soul had been bleeding messily all over the landscape. No wonder the kid was pissed but that still didn’t explain _how the hell he fixed it._

 

“…I was hemorrhaging soul and you somehow fixed it?”

 

The boy raised a hand and let the purple flames flicker between his fingers playfully.  “You looked strong, so I multiplied what you had left.”

 

Ichigo had a faint feeling that it wasn’t that simple. It really couldn’t have been, with the state of his scarred soul. But he couldn’t deny the results. His living soul had undoubtedly strengthened from the fraction he had left. The scarring had been torn open to allow for new growth.

 

When he willed it, his own orange flame came out to play between his fingertips. He could almost sob at seeing it respond properly again. He still had no Shinigami powers, no spirits, no second sight, but he now had something. Something that could be just enough to keep him going.

 

The other teenager grinned. It was not a nice smile. That kind of smile was more like the baring of teeth of a wild animal. It had far too many teeth for it to ever be appropriate in polite company. It was the kind of smile that Ichigo had large amounts of experience with from exposure to Kenpachi.

 

He answered like he always had and bared his own teeth in response.

 

A thrilled light glinted in those silver eyes.

 

“I am Hibari Kyoya. I will _bite you to death_.”

 

“I am Kurosaki Ichigo. I will _like to see you try_.”

 

The room erupted in violence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kisuke realized he had a problem nearly a month and a half after he had said his final farewell to his dear student.

 

That final farewell had been a sobering moment that had torn him to his core. The culmination of his entire plan to defeat Aizen had resulted in a heavily damaged young man that he watched walk away from him and this life. With his self-loathing of what he had done at an all-time high, he had locked himself in his lab to desperately look for a solution.

 

There had to be some way to repair Ichigo’s torn and bleeding soul, even if it was only enough for him to have a proper Konso if he died young. Ichigo’s soul would regenerate enough for that in time, but Kisuke knew better than the other Shinigami, the risk of a sudden accident in the modern living world. The anxiety curdling in his gut wouldn’t rest until he had some way to prevent that burning bright soul from crumbling to nothing.

 

He ignored the aching of his own soul, it burned like familiar guilt. He shouldered the new burden easily, accepting it as his due.

 

He thought the pain was just psychosomatic.

 

Six weeks after that final farewell, a pen slipped out of numb fingers and he realized that the problem was more serious than he thought.

 

He hadn’t realized how cold he was.

 

Of course, he was not Ichigo, he knew fully well of what the problem was the moment he became aware.

 

_Flame rejection_

 

His Dying Will Flames were wounded and discorded and he was not sure why? He rarely used his Mist flames. There should have been no reason for them to become damaged. But of course, there was.

 

He was a little aghast to be honest.

 

How could he have _bonded to a sky_ and not noticed?

 

The bond was silk thin and fraying with distance and soul scarring but still doggedly hanging on. Kisuke was amazed that Ichigo even had enough soul left to hold a guardian bond. In the deep pit of his shame he realized that not only had been complicit in the damaging of his sky’s soul, he had probably caused the snapping of most of his flame bonds with the loss of two-thirds of his soul.

 

Whoever the other guardians were had probably not felt anything, being latent, but Ichigo had probably felt all of it.

 

He flung open the door of the lab, startling Tessai, and bolted straight out of the Shouten with the energy of a man possessed.

 

It was then that the second problem became apparent.

 

Ichigo hadn’t been in Karakura for weeks.

 

Nobody else was particularly concerned, used to his long bouts of disappearances. Each group Kisuke asked thought that he was with another group. His sisters thought he was with Kisuke, his friends thought he was with his family and Kisuke had no idea who he thought Ichigo would be by but he certainly wasn’t in the town. It was something of a mess honestly. By nightfall he was on a train out of Karakura, following the gossamer thin bond as best he could.

 

It took longer than he liked before he finally narrowed down his destination to notorious retired mafia grounds Namimori because of _course_ Ichigo had ended up there.

 

The moment he stepped off the train he could almost taste the heavy weight of cloud flames, powerful ones, saturating the area. He briefly entertained the idea of turning around, he’s a mist and he knows very well that most clouds loathe mists. The second of regret passes and he goes on the hunt for his sky who is in enemy territory.

 

He tries not to think about how a soul damaged sky would be easy prey for a yakuza family to snatch up. He tries not to think about how long Ichigo had been missing for.

 

The bond is his only compass in the unfamiliar town, unmoving as it points to Ichigo’s location. It worries him a little that Ichigo hasn’t moved in the hours that he’s been combing the city. Finally he doubles back and circles around before deciding that Ichigo was in…a high school?

 

School isn’t even in session, having already been dismissed for the day. There are club activities going on but they are easy enough to avoid even without use of mist flames. He hops the wall by a secluded area by the bathrooms and slips into the main building with ease. He doesn’t dare to use mist flames here. This is the heart of the cloud’s territory, if even a touch of his mist was felt, the cloud would know immediately.  

 

He climbs upwards, heart in his throat. The bond keeps indicating higher. Finally, he reaches the last door, the door to the roof. Without a doubt he knows that Ichigo is behind this door, but behind the door he can also feel the massive aura of the cloud powerhouse. This close, he can feel that his sky is calm and drowsy but that doesn’t rule out drugging.

 

_Trap,_ hisses in the back of his mind.

 

_Bait,_ he reminds it. _Ichigo_

 

He can feel Benihime’s hackles rising, her hilt growing warm in his hand. Using a zanpakuto in front of a living human is against the rules but he’s exiled anyway, and he can just wave off shinigami techniques as ‘mist techniques’ since it’s a flame user.

 

He slams the door open, half formed kido tingling as one hand and Benihime half drawn and screaming for bloodlust in the other hand.

 

Ichigo is laid out on the roof, calm and relaxed. Curled on top of him taking a nap is the cloud, a slender teenaged boy.

 

“Hey Geta-boushi.” Ichigo casually greets. “Took you long enough.”

 

The other boy’s eyes open, silver and pitiless. And oh _fuck_ he looks like the storm arcobaleno. Kisuke may not pay attention to the matters of the mafia but he knows who the taicho-class fighters are. This must be one of the Hibari.

 

He can _feel_ the heavy cloud flames start to roil.

 

“Carnivore.” The boy says, rising to his feet and pulling out a pair of tonfas. “I’m going to _bite you to death_.”

 

Well he hadn’t been expecting getting into a fight with a _Hibari_ today but Ichigo looked fine (better than fine) and he could afford to indulge himself a little. He drew Benihime and answered in kind.

 

(The Hibari was good, very good, almost on the same monstrous level as Ichigo but Kisuke was centuries old and wily like a fox even when limiting himself)

**Author's Note:**

> Ichigo is a cloudy sky.
> 
> I sorta drew from Tsuna's reaction to getting sealed but if it happened to an adult. because kids can adjust but I guess adults can't.
> 
> Also I headcanon that Hibari's cloud flame breaks the laws of everything. It's belief driven, if he believes that he can keep going, his flames will make him keep going even beyond logic. I don't want to say he can multiply his own cloud flames but he probably can.
> 
> Boi just wanted a fight, fighting a crippled omnivore is no fun, he told his flames 'fix omnivore' and believed he could so he did. +1 omnivore  
> He also probably went outta his way, since people he classifies carnivores/omnivores are so rare. His classifications is subconscious flame sensing, so basically his version of hyper-intuition told him that he'd get some good fights outta this collapsed guy and that was good enough for him.
> 
> It was very hard to include any of that in the fic since Hibari just. would. not. explain.


End file.
